


Alice Through the Looking Glass

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Indian Summers (TV)
Genre: Canon Dialogue, Community: trope_bingo, Dark, Diary/Journal, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Insanity, Trope Bingo Round 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 10:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: Alice's version of events, as we see in canon, beginning with her arrival in Simla, are not the truth. The truth is far darker and more terrible. Ralph and Charlie are doing their best but Alice is living in a different world.





	Alice Through the Looking Glass

_Alice sat on the train, Percy in his basket in front of her. She was going to see Ralph, Everything would be fine once she was back with her brother. When the train halted she got breathless, went to stand outside the train. India, she was in India, where she'd always felt safe..._

The pencil moved across the page.

_"If I ever run into that so-called husband of yours I'll give him such a thrashing," Ralph promised..._

_"...if we're going to play the widow card," Madeline said..._

A sketch and then more words.

_"Charlie spoke to a solicitor," Farquhar said..._  
"What are you going to say to him?"  
"You tell me."  
"Say I'm not ready. Not yet. I have some things I have to work out. Please." 

*

The housekeeper showed Ralph into the sitting room. Charlie was standing at the window, smoking. He turned and gave a wan smile. "Thank you, Mrs Sparrow."

"I'll bring some tea," the woman said and left the two men alone.

"Thank you for coming," Charlie said, stubbing out the cigarette, as if Ralph had popped round for tea rather than crossed an ocean.

"Of course," Ralph responded in kind. "Where is she?"

"Outside. The garden calms her," Charlie said.

Ralph shook his head. "I should have come sooner." Despite his resolve not to scold his brother-in-law, he added, "You should have told me how bad it was."

Charlie nodded. "I should have. I thought she would grieve and move past this. But every day she seems to slip further away. Even when it's cold she insists on wearing frocks as if she's in Simla. The delusion is quite strong."

Ralph sank onto the sofa. "She honestly thinks she's in India?"

"Yes. With you. I hope when she sees you, the real you, here, it might shake her out of it," Charlie said. He moved to sit in the chair opposite Ralph. "She keeps a journal, you know. Sketches and diary entries detailing her life in Simla, other scenes that are like moments from a book. She's rather good at storytelling and her sketches are excellent, but you know how she never felt up to pursuing an artistic career. I wish I'd pushed her harder to do so. It's as if all her creative energy has come rushing out into this fantasy and now she can't tell what is real and what isn't."

Mrs Sparrow entered with the tea tray and placed it on the table. She busied herself pouring the tea.

"She calls Mrs Sparrow _Cynthia_ ," Charlie said. "Mrs Coffin, isn't it?"

Mrs Sparrow nodded grimly. "Yes, sir. It's quite jolly for Mrs Cynthia Coffin, running the club and so on. It would be quite a lark if the situation were not so terribly sad, you see, Mr Whelan."

When Mrs Sparrow had left the room, Charlie moved to the desk and picked up a leather-bound journal which he passed to Ralph.

"The first doctor I consulted told me not to allow her to wallow in her falsehoods. I burnt the journal she was keeping. Alice had a complete breakdown. She sat in her room, refusing to eat or drink, barely sleeping. Almost catatonic. The new doctor I consulted, Kingsley, suggested I give her a fresh journal and immediately she began to sketch again, recreating the previous pages in incredible detail."

Ralph skimmed the pages. He pointed to a portrait done in watercolours, a pale woman with red hair. "Who's this? She looks like a porcelain doll."

"Don't be rude about your fiancée," Charlie said mildly. "Madeline. American, for some reason; Alice has never been to America at all, let alone Chicago. Cynthia doesn't like Madeline but you're digging your heels in about marrying the girl, which is upsetting Cynthia, who is rather invested in your affairs according to the journal."

Ralph flipped another few pages, pausing on another portrait, a pencil sketch of a dark skinned man, shown in profile. "Who's this?"

"Aafrin Dalal," Charlie said. "He's your secretary, I believe. He supposedly saved your life and now Alice is obsessed with him. Drawn to him."

Ralph looked up in shock. "You don't mean –"

Charlie shrugged. He offered Ralph a cigarette. Ralph refused, while Charlie lit one for himself.

"She would never commit adultery! And I would never allow that to go on under my roof!"

"I'm not sure you are aware of the affair yet, but you might be surprised what you condone in Alice's fancy," Charlie said. "She's telling everyone in her fantasy, save for you and Madeline, that I'm dead."

"What?"

"Alice wrote me a letter – I have it in my desk drawer, an actual letter, telling me not to pursue her to India." Charlie took a long drag on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. "She's playing the merry widow."

Ralph read some of the entries, amazed at Alice's imagination and horrified at some of the events she was describing.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" Charlie sighed. "Not just conversations she's supposedly had, but background on almost everyone in Simla. A whole cast of characters. Part diary, part novel."

Ralph tossed the journal aside. "How can you be so calm?"

"I've had time to come to terms with it."

"Well I'm bloody well going to put a stop to it!" Ralph stood. "I want to see her. Now!"

Charlie nodded. "Of course you want to see her but please don't yell at her. She becomes agitated if you try too hard to shake her out of the delusion. Kingsley said –"

"I don't give a damn what any doctor said if he didn't find a way to fix her! Didn't either of them try and find some way to cure her? Other than burn the journal or give her a new one?"

Charlie looked away. "It has been suggested I have her institutionalised, but I insisted she would do better here, at home. To let her go along with the fantasy for a while and hope she snaps out of it, rather than let a bunch of psychiatrists and nuns shackle her in some cell and try half-drowning her in cold baths or even shock treatment."

Ralph stared at him. "That's what was suggested? Lock her away?"

"Yes. Kingsley however agreed that we could at least try and wean her out of the delusion slowly. To try and steer events towards reality. He's prescribed a tincture that is supposed to help keep her calm and more suggestible. We have to hope she recovers in due course." Charlie gestured. "Shall we?"

*

Alice was sitting on a blanket, a basket nearby. She looked up and for a moment she seemed confused.

"Ralph?"

"It's me darling."

Then she smiled. "I'm glad you're home early. Sarah was here for hours making a dreadful nuisance of herself and Sumitra dropped a plate. But everything's all right now you're here. And Percy's been so good."

She smiled at the basket, empty save for a couple of blankets. Ralph's blood ran cold. He sat down next to her.

"Alice. I've just come back to England. To see you."

"I love India," she replied.

Charlie gestured, frustrated. "It's no use. If you say something that directly contradicts her fantasy she ignores it, substitutes it in her head for something that supports her delusion. She won't even recognise that I'm standing here. Sometimes she decides I'm someone else, and that's the only time she'll acknowledge my presence at all."

"I'm her brother, she will listen to me!" Ralph cupped Alice's chin. "Alice. I'm so sorry for what you've been through."

"It's all right now that you're here."

"Yes, yes, but Alice – "

She lifted one hand, stroked Ralph's hair. "I love you, Ralph. And you and Madeline are going to be so happy. Happier than I ever was with Charlie."

Ralph sat back, pulling away. He glanced over at Charlie, who looked merely resigned rather than outraged or hurt.

"Alice, please. You are in England. Your husband is right over there and he is hurting just as badly as you are. I came to help you, both of you, in any way I can. But you have to listen to me. You never left England, Alice."

She cocked her head. "It was so cold, when I left Tilbury, bitterly cold. My son in my arms, a few pounds in my pocket. I was happy. I'd chosen what to do, I was coming to see you and be a family with you."

Ralph blinked hard, grabbed at her wrist. "Alice –"

"Don't yell." Charlie's tone was almost neutral for Alice's benefit, but there was a hint of steel beneath the words. "Don't hurt her."

Ralph fought his own rage. He released her. "Dear God."

"Shouting only makes things worse," Charlie told him and headed indoors.

*

Back inside, Ralph ignored the tea and headed for the sideboard. He poured himself a large brandy and looked to Charlie for belated permission. When Charlie nodded, Ralph poured a second and pressed the glass into Charlie's hands.

"I don't think I can stand it."

Charlie sat back in his seat. "It's astonishing, what one can become used to. As I said, it's this or an institution and for the moment I choose this."

Ralph paced the room, sipping at his brandy. "There must be something else we can do other than indulging her fantasies."

Charlie scoffed. "You were not here. Do not judge me for the choices I have had to make."

"You should have written sooner! Told me how bad things were!"

Charlie shrugged. "Yes. But at first I didn't want to worry you, drag you away from your work. And then to admit it made it more real, I suppose. To tell you, knowing it would hurt you, that your sister is so damaged. To admit my failure to help her grieve. My failure as a husband. As a – "

He broke off, took a swig of brandy. Ralph tipped his head.

"I'm sorry," Ralph said, softening his tone. "This must have been more difficult than I can imagine. I wish you had trusted that I'd have wanted to help in any way I could, but I understand why you hesitated."

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by the soft sound of Alice's voice singing a lullaby wafting on the wind. Ralph closed his eyes.

"She suggested I had an affair," Charlie said, apropos of nothing. "I can't figure out if she believes it in her fantasy, or it if is a lie which she told you, or at least a lie you told to Madeline, something to make it more palatable that she left me and ran off to India."

Madeline. His fiancée. Ralph fought mixed feelings at Alice bestowing her fantasy version of him with a fantasy soon-to-be-wife. Did Madeline, like Cynthia, have a real life counterpart that she was based on? He'd never met a Madeline as far as he could recall, and the last Americans he'd met were an elderly couple from Wisconsin who found their Indian holiday rather too hot for their liking.

"As if I would ever commit adultery," Charlie continued, staring at the rug. "Alice often complained that I was not demonstrative enough, yet part of her might believe I had desire enough to spare for a paramour. I love her, and I have always cared for her, and yet somehow it was never enough. She wanted more, always more, more than I could give. And I tried, I did, because she wanted a child. And I didn't much care either way, but Alice was insistent. Then, after a few years of trying, she fell pregnant, and she was so thrilled, and I thought I'd finally given her some happiness."

Ralph wanted to protest, to say that Alice had been happy at her wedding, had written letters to him that had as much praise as complaining about her marriage in them. He stayed silent, recognising that this unburdening had been a long time coming, was something necessary, and it was not his place to object but rather his duty to listen.

"We talked about names," Charlie went on. "Victoria for a girl, her aunt's name and my mother's. We argued over names for a boy, until Alice was reading de Troyes. She claimed it was the first time she felt a kick, and that if it was a boy, he had chosen his own name, Percival."

Ralph gave a wan smile. Alice had written him a letter giving more detail to the story. He'd laughed when he received it, read it aloud to any who would listen. He'd made plans to visit after his niece or nephew was born. He'd let work put him off, and his regret that he hadn't returned to England sooner would haunt him forever.

"He was perfect," Charlie said, distant. "I loved Percy the moment I held him. We were happy, then. Happier than we'd ever been. Alice had someone to lavish her affection on, who desperately needed her constant attention. I had a happy wife and a darling son." Charlie swallowed hard. "He was only three months old when he died."

Ralph moved to crouch at the side of the chair. It had been Charlie, not Alice, who'd written with the terrible news. All the more terrible for the suddenness and inexplicable nature of the tragedy. There was no sign of sickness. Percy had been in his crib and had not been smothered by sharing a bed with his parents. The investigation revealed nothing, cleared his parents of any wrongdoing, but found no cause of death. Alice was distraught, of course, everyone was. Ralph would never meet his nephew.

It had seemed cruel to return to England under such circumstances. The funeral was over by the time Ralph received the letter, and he thought it best to let the boy's parents grieve. Besides, there was work, always so much to do. He'd planned to visit eventually. He hoped to return to better news, another pregnancy even.

"Alice didn't cry, not after the first day," Charlie said, choking back tears of his own. "She screamed and cried and had to be sedated that first terrible day. But nothing after that. Shock, everyone said. After the funeral, she would begin to mourn. But instead she took to her bed, stared at the ceiling for days. And then she got up, put on her favourite green dress, and told me how glad she was to be back in India. She began carrying that basket around as if it still held her child. The truth was too painful, so she had created a world in which she continued to be happy. One in which she turned to you, and away from me. She blames me, somehow."

Ralph tentatively put one hand on Charlie's knee. "I'm so sorry. I'm here now. I'll do what I can to help."

Charlie nodded, reined in his emotions. "There's a chance that to jolt her completely out of the world she's created could permanently damage her mind. So we have to tread carefully."

"I understand." Ralph wasn't sure he believed it, but for now he would listen to Charlie and go along with this ridiculous situation.

Ralph had made arrangements, called in favours. He would work part-time at the embassy in London. He hoped that he could persuade Charlie to do the same. Even a day or two a week at his job in the bank would give him some respite from taking care of Alice and restore some semblance of normality.

That night Ralph lay in the room that had once been the nursery, staring at the ceiling. Charlie had the guest bedroom, sleeping apart from Alice as if she'd truly left him. The situation was more terrible than Ralph had expected.

*

Alice had started a new chapter of her journal and three years had gone by in the turn of a page. Ralph found it encouraging that Alice acknowledged Charlie now, that in her fantasy he was with her in India, even if she was still living a lie. Ralph felt that his presence had shaken Alice enough to let some reality in, and if she needed to believe so much time had passed, so be it.

Charlie, who'd clearly had his hopes dashed before, was less optimistic and afternoon tea was a subdued affair with Alice staring blankly at nothing. Charlie took her hand, pressed his lips to her knuckles.

"It's wretched to see her like this. Doesn't it make you frustrated?" Ralph asked.

"Yes, but she has moments of lucidity. They make up for these times." Charlie didn't sound convincing.

Later, Alice scribbled in her notebook. She put it aside, noticed Ralph sitting reading the newspaper.

"I'm glad you're here Ralph," she said and it nearly broke his heart. He put aside the paper and came to enfold her in his arms.

"I'm here as long as you need me," he said. But when she raised damp eyes to his face again she was a different person once more.

"I know I have to stay with him," she whispered. "I know you need the money and I can't help but be glad that you do. That we have to be here so Charlie can pay the bills means that Percy and I are with you, Ralph. I wish though he wasn't here. I wish it was just us."

Ralph tried to pull free, prised her fingers from his arms. How dare she insinuate he was reckless with his finances! "That is no way to talk about your husband," he said. "And Percy –"

"He's playing," Alice said dreamily and walked away, crouching down in a corner of the room to watch the action only she could see.

Ralph could only watch with barely concealed horror.

*

"Alice," Charlie called, pausing to take a drag of his cigarette. "Come inside."

She shot him a venomous glance from where she'd been having a conversation with the privet hedge. Charlie ignored the look and went inside, adding the required amount of tincture to a glass of brandy.

"Hides the taste," he explained to Ralph. "If you put it in water she spits it out."

Alice came inside and stood, sullen, near the coffee table.

"Here you go darling," Charlie said, pressing the glass into her hands. "Drink it up."

"I'd rather not –"

"Down the hatch." Charlie put one finger under the base of the glass tipping it up as she put the edge of her lips. She coughed a little but swallowed most of it. "Atta girl."

Alice wiped at her mouth with her sleeve while Charlie put the glass aside. She stalked past Ralph and went to her room. She had to be coaxed out to dinner and spent the rest of the evening sitting outside, smoking and complaining to her imaginary lover.

*

Alice knelt at the side of the rocking horse. She glanced over at Charlie as he watched her from the doorway. "Play with Percy," she said. "He wants you to rock him."

"Percy is in heaven," Charlie said, crossing the room. "But I'm sure he would have enjoyed playing on the rocking horse."

"Sing a nursery rhyme. He'd like that." She added, coquettish, "I like it when you sing."

Charlie put one hand on the rump of the horse. He sang a few bars of "Ride A Cock Horse" and then paused. "Alice, you must accept it. Percy is gone."

Alice got to her feet and walked out of the room.

Later, Charlie was in the study, reading through paperwork. Ralph had taken Alice on a strictly supervised walk in a nearby park, and now they returned.

"How was she?"

"She had an entire conversation with someone who wasn't there," Ralph said, as Alice smiled vacantly at Charlie. "But we saw a boy on the swings, yelling for his mother to watch him. For one moment Alice seemed to understand where she was. She said 'Percy will never play on the swings' and I thought we'd had some sort of breakthrough. Then she blanked out, let me bring her home."

Charlie nodded, signing a letter. "Anything is progress," he said.

Alice moved to the desk, rifled through the papers. The two men watched her. She took up a pair of scissors and Ralph held his breath. Alice lifted a lock of her hair and snipped it off. She handed it to Charlie, an offering, a gift.

"Um, thank you. I'll – I'll put it in a locket," he said.

Alice nodded. She walked to the hallway, almost bumping into Mrs Sparrow.

"Would you like some tea?" Mrs Sparrow asked.

"Yes, thank you," Charlie said.

"And something to eat," Ralph agreed.

Alice followed Mrs Sparrow to the kitchen. "I don't think Charlie will fall for that," she said, continuing aloud a conversation she'd been having in her head with Cynthia.

Charlie placed the lock of hair in a desk drawer.

"What was that about do you think?" Ralph asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps she'll write it up in that damn journal."

After refreshments, Mrs Sparrow was clearing away the plates when Alice walked over to the piano.

"Dear Lord," Charlie said softly. "She hasn't touched it in years."

"Really? She had lessons, I believe, when she was a girl. Hated them, mind."

"She talked about having lessons again, so she could play lullabies," Charlie said as Alice seated herself.

Alice tried out a few keys, positioned her hands. She frowned in concentration. With a great effort, desperately slowly, she picked out the first few bars of "God Save the Queen". Charlie moved to stand by the piano, Ralph leaning on the piano lid. Alice tried another tune.

"What are you trying to play?" Ralph asked, keeping his tone playful.

"I think it's Camptown Races," Charlie said as Alice began the tune again. "Oh, the Camptown ladies sing this song, doo-dah, doo-dah; oops. Never mind. Try again?"

Alice began again, stumbled, tried a third time. Then she sat back, gazing into space. Ralph touched her arm and she let him pull her to her feet. She blinked and tears began to flow.

"Alice." Ralph held her tightly. "Alice, it's all right. We love you. I'm here. You're not alone."

"I miss him," she wept. "I miss him so much."

"I know. Of course you do. Oh, Alice."

Then the tears stopped and she pulled back. She wiped at her face and walked to the sofa. She lit a cigarette and sat back, smoking.

"You saw that," Ralph said. "Progress."

Charlie nodded. It was bittersweet, Ralph understood, that it was him and not her husband that Alice had opened up to. But it was a start.

Ralph was pleased when Charlie went back to work part-time. One of them was always with Alice, sometimes both of them, and surely between them they could watch over her and help her recover.

*

"I'm not even good at cricket," Ralph said, picking a cucumber sandwich off the plate.

"In Alice's world you are probably a champion." Charlie looked over at Alice. "You hardly ate last night. You have to eat something. Come on, darling."

After the moment of clarity, Alice had been more withdrawn, eating only a few mouthfuls of the dinner Mrs Sparrow had prepared and taking maybe two sips of whisky before going to bed early. Breakfast had been difficult; Ralph hadn't seen this spectacle in action, Alice pretending to eat, lifting an empty fork to her mouth. It was more creepy as her insistence that Percy was sitting by her, and Ralph had excused himself halfway through his own plate of bacon and eggs.

Alice picked up her cup and tipped it, letting the tea spill onto the table.

"I'll mop it up," Mrs Sparrow said, ready with a cloth. Ralph had come to appreciate the woman's constant background presence, calm and competent, happy to jump in at a moment's notice and deal with whatever drama was ongoing. 

Alice got to her feet and picked up her journal from the sideboard. She lay down on the floor, kicking her legs in the air, and began to write.

_Charlie was horrible to me at lunch. Aafrin put him in line, calling him out on the lies. Charlie didn't like that. Ralph did though. He praised Aafrin's loyalty to our family. If he knew though, how much I love Aafrin, that I'm sleeping with an Indian man...it doesn't bear thinking about._

Later, Ralph shook his head as he read the journal.

"I recognise the Ralph who loves his sister," he said. "But not the Ralph who has squandered the family fortune. A man who can't see what's going on beneath his very nose. He's some twisted version of me. Someone who does things for the drama of it all, to suit the plot of her fairytale world."

Charlie nodded, staring into the middle distance, a cigarette barely touched in one hand. "I'm surprised by Aafrin's sister," he said. "I thought she might represent some facet of Alice's subconscious, a woman trying to free herself from the expectations of society and family. But Sooni has increasingly become less interested in her career and politics and more in the men around her. Rather more damsel in distress than heroine of her story."

"Maybe Alice got bored with her," Ralph said. "It probably doesn't mean anything."

"If Alice wants a career I will do what I can to assist her. I just want her back," Charlie said, and the melancholy in his tone made Ralph's throat ache.

*

"Alice?"

She blinked. "Yes?"

"Mrs Sparrow asked if you'd like another scone."

Alice shook her head. "I'm sorry. World of my own." She returned to gazing off into the distance. "A fashion show? How delightful."

Charlie sighed and left the table. A few minutes later, Alice picked up the journal and began to sketch a woman she'd named Leena.

 _Lord Hawthorne wants to take Leena home with him to look after his children_ , Alice wrote when the sketch was finished. _Charlie thinks it is quite an opportunity for her, but I'm worried that she won't be looked after properly. We're having a fashion show, it will be the talk of Simla. Sirene and the Maharajah are coming, which will help Ralph's chances of being named viceroy, if he gets the Maharajah's support. Madeline is going to wear a scandalous gown, but she'll look so beautiful that I'm sure the Maharajah will approve. I want to join in, but I don't think Charlie will let me. He's always stopping me from doing what I want to._

Ralph came home earlier than usual. Charlie was in the garden, playing that damn instrument – banjo-something? What was wrong with a decent guitar or even a banjo? Still, that Charlie was doing something other than fret about or over Alice was encouraging.

"How has she been today?" Ralph asked, when Charlie finished the tune he seemed to be improvising. He lit a cigarette.

"Here one minute, gone the next." Charlie plucked at one string before he put the instrument aside. "She said something about a fashion show earlier. Mrs Sparrow said she later took herself off for a nap."

Ralph held out the silver case and Charlie took a cigarette, letting Ralph light it for him. They smoked in silence for a moment.

"I'll go and check on her," Charlie said at last.

Ralph followed, keeping his distance, but curious to see how things played out. Alice was at her dressing table. Charlie stood behind her, gazing at Alice's reflection in the mirror.

"How are you feeling?"

"She's very confident, that's all."

Ralph winced. Charlie took a long drag on his cigarette, blew out a plume of smoke. "I'm sure she's very charming. Is this Cynthia, Leena, or Madeline we're talking about? Or that Sarah woman you hate?"

"Yes, of course," Alice replied, following her own conversation.

Charlie gave a wry smile. "My darling girl." He stroked at her throat and chin with his free hand. Ralph expected some response from Alice, for her to lean into Charlie's hand in acknowledgment of his affection, or to show anger, or something. Yet she stayed motionless and silent, until the caressing looked intrusive, as if terrifying her into utter submission.

"Enough," Ralph said softly. Charlie stepped away. "I thought she was doing better."

"The delusion is powerful." Charlie moved past Ralph and headed for the stairs.

*

Alice refused to come to the dinner table, eating a light meal in her room. After dinner, Ralph was lounging on the leather sofa, listening to the gramophone. Charlie was sitting in his favourite armchair, reading the paper. Ralph turned his head when he heard Alice enter the room.

She was wearing a long black dress. She walked slowly and deliberately to the centre of the room. She lifted her chin defiantly, struck a pose and stared off into the corner, smiled coyly.

"What is she doing?" Ralph asked. "Surely she's not – the fashion show?"

Alice displayed the dress to the imaginary audience for a few more moments and then headed to the sideboard. She poured herself a whisky.

"I am not about to risk everything in my life for a man who thinks it's somehow braver to suffer in silence," she said. She downed the whisky and marched outside into the cool evening air.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Trouble with her paramour? I rather hope so. Maybe she is getting better." He folded the paper and put it aside. Ralph followed him into the garden. Alice was standing on the grass, staring into the gloom. She shivered.

"Darling?" Charlie slipped off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. "Come on. Come inside."

"Charlie." Alice nodded. "Yes. Let's go home."

Ralph smiled, encouraged.

*

"I thought you'd be at work," Alice said. Then her expression froze. "What have you done to our son?"

Charlie sipped his tea. "Alice, please sit down. We'll have some breakfast and then maybe you would like to take a bath?"

Alice walked over to the dresser. As Charlie put down his cup, Alice snatched up a plate and spun on her heel. Before he was aware of the danger, Alice slammed the plate down on Charlie's head.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Mrs Sparrow entered, gave a short scream at the sight of blood on Charlie's head and shirt collar. Charlie held up one finger to stall Mrs Sparrow and addressed Alice in a calm, polite-at-all-costs way that only a British gentleman or gentlewoman could pull off under the circumstances.

"Would you mind awfully going upstairs for a minute?"

Alice marched out of the dining room and up to the bedroom. Charlie followed.

"I think you should lie down," he said, and when she lay on the floor, "that is not what I meant."

Alice turned over so she was lying face down. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed. "Why are you doing this? Alice, please. We were happy once. I know we will never forget Percy and we will always feel his loss, but we can be happy again."

"You were happy," Alice retorted. "I was drowning."

Charlie glanced over, caught a glimpse of his dishevelled reflection, his hair in disarray, the blood stains on his white shirt. He stood, picked up a shawl. "You look cold, Alice. Put this on and get into bed."

Ralph came to the door, stopped short at the sight of Charlie.

"Mrs Sparrow said Alice attacked you." He was incredulous, clearly wanted Charlie to refute the statement.

Charlie touched his head gingerly, his fingertips coming away bloodied. "It's nothing."

"Nothing? For fuck's sake, Charlie! She could have killed you!" Ralph jabbed a finger at him. "She is my sister, and I love her, but this has to stop."

"She is my wife," Charlie shouted.

Alice got to her feet. She moved to touch Charlie's elbow. Despite his defence of her, he flinched, expecting another attack.

"Darling." She shivered.

Charlie held out the shawl. "You do look cold."

She slipped the material around her shoulders, lifted one hand to cup his cheek. "Kiss me."

He hesitated, awkwardly placing his hands on her before he kissed her lips. Almost immediately she began to squirm and Charlie released her, his disappointment plain. Ralph frowned.

"Come on, darling," Alice said, grabbing at Charlie's elbow but Ralph moved between them.

"Alice," he said. "It's been a long day. Why don't you go to bed and I'll have one of the servants bring you a glass of brandy?"

Alice nodded and kicked off her shoes. She climbed beneath the covers, shawl and all, and closed her eyes. Ralph led Charlie into the hallway and locked the door.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Ralph said, outwardly calm but inwardly in turmoil.

*

Alice walked arm in arm with Ralph, Charlie strolling close by, smoking a cigarette. They passed a nanny pushing a pram and Alice's grip tightened on Ralph's arm. Up ahead was a pond with geese and ducks shrieking at each other and demanding food from the park goers.

"I've always liked feeding the ducks," Alice said. She drew to a stop when they got close to the pond.

"We should have brought them something to eat," Ralph agreed.

Alice's lower lip quivered. "I wanted to bring Percy to feed the ducks." She'd said he was taking an afternoon nap before they left the house and Ralph assumed she meant she should have brought imaginary Percy with her. He was mistaken.

"He'll never feed the ducks," Alice whispered. Tears ran down her face.

Ralph held her tight, crushed her against his chest. Charlie stubbed out his cigarette, gazed out over the pond.

"I know," Ralph said. "And I'm so sorry."

"We would have brought him to the park," Charlie agreed, voice choked with emotion. "Alice..."

She pulled away from Ralph, took a few tentative steps towards her husband. He was startled when she rested her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It was no-one's fault." He stroked at her face with his knuckles, brushing away her tears.

"I want to go home," Alice said and the men didn't dare argue.

They walked back in silence.

"Speak of the devil," Mrs Sparrow said when they returned from their walk. "Only joking, sir. Doctor Kingsley telephoned. I said you would be back shortly and here you are."

"I'll call him back," Charlie said and headed to the study.

Ralph slipped off Alice's coat and let Mrs Sparrow take it.

"How was your walk, if I may ask?"

"Interesting," Ralph said, steering Alice towards the lounge. "We had some progress."

Yet five minutes later, just as Charlie had finished telling Kingsley about the breakthrough, Alice was curled up on the sofa writing in her journal again.

"It'll be Percy's birthday soon," she said aloud, the pencil scribbling across the page. "He'll be four. Won't that be exciting?"

*

"I want to buy a wooden trike for Percy's birthday," Alice announced over breakfast.

"No." Charlie sat back in his chair, folded his arms.

Ralph nodded in agreement. There was no point in spending out on a trike for a suddenly aged fantasy figment. It was a fine line they were always walking, trying to draw Alice into reality without completely upsetting her, but they could refuse to buy things, to throw a birthday party of all things.

She stared at Charlie. Ralph had been ignored all morning; maybe fantasy Ralph had gone to work. "Bit bloody late for that, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Please may I buy our son a present?" Alice ground out the words.

"No," Charlie said again, though Ralph could see his resolve wavering.

Ralph pushed his empty plate away and got to his feet. "Charlie."

Charlie stood and they left the room.

"We made progress yesterday," Ralph said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't give in now. Go to work, I'll watch her, I promise."

That evening Ralph told Charlie that Alice had been quiet most of the day. She'd read a book, sketched but not written in her journal, and had gone for a walk with Ralph in which she was again almost lucid.

Charlie found Alice embroidering while a record played. "How Deep is the Ocean"; his throat ached. It had become their song. He crossed the room.

"Shake a leg?" he asked, more resigned than hopeful. Yet she put aside the embroidery and stood. They danced, moving as one, as if all the years between their wedding and today had never happened. He'd loved her then, he loved her now, he'd always loved her as best as he could. Maybe it would never have been enough, maybe it could have been if they'd never had Percy, or if they had never lost Percy.

Despite himself he found himself talking about their son, about the day he was born. "We were so excited," he said.

Alice nodded. There was something melancholy in her smile, as if she was aware of the loss. Then she looked to the corner of the room, pulled away. She walked to the sofa and took up her journal, lost to him once again.

*

"Alice!" Charlie was frantic.

Alice had locked Mrs Sparrow in the cellar. She'd broken into Charlie's desk drawer and taken all of the spare cash she could find. From the disarray in the bedroom it looked as if she'd packed a bag of clothes too. She was running away, and she'd taken the damn journal which might have mentioned where she was going.

Mrs Sparrow had stayed at the house in case Alice returned. She had wanted to call the police but Charlie thought that was a last resort. Ralph had taken a cab to the rail station, Charlie had chosen to comb the streets.

It was with huge relief that he found her waiting at a bus-stop, clutching her bag. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Alice. You have to come home."

She shook her head, taking a step forward and then moving back again.

"Are you all right, miss?" a gentleman asked, eyeing Charlie with suspicion.

"She's my wife," Charlie said, trying to be calm. "She is unwell, and she is coming home with me. So stay out of this, there's a good chap."

Alice looked into the distance, her fantasy playing out over these real events. "Percy!" She ran past Charlie, into the road. He grabbed for her as a car hurtled towards her, pulling her to safety. She screamed, struggled as he tried to keep hold of her.

"If someone could call a taxi, please," Charlie hollered, as Alice elbowed him in the ribs.

In the finish the police showed up. Alice had quietened down by then, and after it was confirmed that Alice was under Dr Kingsley's care, the police took them home. Charlie locked her in the bedroom and went downstairs. He poured a large brandy and downed it in one.

Ralph came home shortly after to find Alice hammering on the door. "Ralph! Ralph! Do something. Hit him, Ralph! He's ruining my life, Ralph! I wanted to go away, from him, from you, I hate you all, I love my son, I want Aafrin!"

Ralph put a hand on the door. "Alice, calm down."

There was silence, followed by the muffled sound of sobs. Ralph sat on the floor, leaned his head back against the door. "My God."

Charlie walked away. A few minutes later Ralph got to his feet and joined Charlie in the lounge. Mrs Sparrow was dusting the mantelpiece. Charlie was polishing off another brandy. He poured one for Ralph.

"No," Ralph demurred but Charlie pressed it into his hands.

"We can't go on like this," Charlie said. "She could have gotten herself killed. She has more lucid moments now, but the fantasies she continues to indulge are making her further act out. It was one thing for her to write stories in her journal and drag that blasted baby basket around, but this was something else entirely."

Ralph nodded. He chose not to remind Charlie that he'd said something similar after the plate smashing incident. "Look I didn't want to get your hopes up but I'm waiting for a call from a psychiatrist that someone at work recommended. A Dr Phelps. "

Charlie shook his head, despondent.

"He has already treated quite a few cases like this, a separation from reality," Ralph insisted. "He uses hypnotism to work back through the fantasy and pick up where the inciting incident occurred. He gives suggestions that the afflicted needs to grieve but they will survive this. He helps them reconnect with the real world. His work has had several successes. I'm willing to give it a try. We are not giving up on Alice."

"Of course not." Charlie gave a wry smile. He tipped his head. "I think she's settled down. I want to check on her. Will you come with me?"

Not for Alice's sake or to reassure Ralph but for his own safety. Worse, a sensible precaution. Ralph followed, watched Charlie open the door. He waited just inside the room, ready to react if Alice turned violent.

Alice was lying on the bed, one arm thrown over her eyes. She lowered her arm as Charlie approached with slow, careful steps. "What do you want?"

"Are you feeling better?"

"I will never be better," Alice swore. "This is your fault. If you'd fucked me more, maybe we'd have had half a dozen children by now and I wouldn't be alone! Or maybe you're barely a man at all, and it was a miracle I fell pregnant at all. Hell, if you'd kept resisting my advances instead of giving in, if you'd never fucked me at all I wouldn't be grieving now!"

"Alice!" Ralph had never heard her swear, could never have predicted such viciousness from her lips.

Charlie reached out with an unsteady hand, stroked a stray lock of her hair. "You always wanted more than I could give," he said, his voice catching. "But I tried, Alice. And he was my child too and I loved him. You cannot keep blaming yourself but nor can you blame me. It was a tragedy, but it was no-one's fault."

She shot him a malicious glance. "You will never understand my loss." She focussed on Ralph. "And you. What are you even doing here? What's the point of you?"

Then she was gone again, gaze unfocussed, staring not at the room or anyone in it, but into the fantasy she had created.

Ralph cleared his throat. "Come on," he said. "Let her sleep."

Charlie followed him out of the room, pausing to lock it once more. "She ran from me," he said. "She tried to run and take my son."

Oh, shit. Ralph was out of his depth with Alice. He couldn't have Charlie fall apart too. He'd hoped sending his brother-in-law back to work would have provided some sense of stability and normalcy, give Charlie some resemblance of a life back. Had that been a mistake, or had it not been enough? Because he was clearly close to breaking point himself, and Ralph couldn't fault him.

"Charlie. It's not real," he said, using the same soothing tone they both did when reasoning with Alice. "Do you honestly think that if Percy was alive she would have kidnapped him like that once, let alone twice?"

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know anymore. You heard what she said. Everything is my fault. Why wouldn't she leave me?"

He left, headed for the bedroom. Ralph rubbed at his face and lit a cigarette but neither that, nor the next cigarette, nor the large glass of whisky calmed his own restless spirit.

*

Alice, calm today, had spent hours scribbling and sketching in her journal before taking a nap on the sofa. Charlie sat smoking, watching her sleep. He stubbed out the cigarette when Alice stirred.

"Where's Percy?"

He winced. "Come here."

She moved closer and he put one arm around her. "It's an odd feeling," he said. "I feel almost light-headed. Relieved, I suppose. Knowing what I'm up against is more than I can face. Knowing what needs to be one."

"That sounds clear."

He couldn't be sure if it was clear, if she understood at all, or was continuing some different conversation in her head.

"I don't want to do this. But you frightened me yesterday."

"You know nothing."

He closed his eyes briefly, took her hand. "Dr Kingsley has suggested an institution before. It won't be forever, and I promise it will be somewhere nice. Friendly nuns and a garden or something. Not just a cell, I swear. If it turns out to be awful, I'll find somewhere better. Ralph will insist on it too."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just until you feel better," Charlie went on. "I've tried, but you could have hurt yourself yesterday."

Alice blinked away tears. "Percy?"

"Oh, Alice."

She shook her head. "People will find out what you've done to me. They'll talk about it. You won't like that. They'll say, 'There's that pitiful man from the bank.'"

Charlie tipped his head. "Yes. But they pity me already. A dead child, and now a mad wife. And at least you'll be looked after. I can go back to work full time. Ralph can decide if he wants to go home or find a position here in England to be near you. And you will get better, and then we will be a family again."

"What can I do? What do you want?" Alice put one hand on his knee, her eyes pleading.

"I want my wife," Charlie said, choking on the words.

Alice leaned in and kissed him. Taken aback, he didn't respond. "You see? I can give you that. I can give you what you want," she said. "Affection. Obedience."

"I want a wife, not a puppy."

"You can do what you like to either, they don't mind," Alice said, beginning to ramble.

When she paused for breath after some thoughts about puppies, Charlie said, "You ran away."

"It wouldn't do it again. You could do anything to it. Anything at all. And it would love you just as much as it could."

The echo of his own words cut deep. "Oh, Alice."

"Just let me have my son, and you of course."

Charlie shook his head. Alice continued to talk, to speak and question and respond as if he was still conversing with her. Then she climbed onto his lap.

"I can prove it," she insisted.

Charlie leaned back. "No, no, no. You know I don't like all that," he said, flustered. Her bursts of sexual desire at odd times had always been overwhelming and now, this attempt to seduce him in order to make him change his mind, was disturbing.

"Better proof....anything," she said. She kissed him again and Charlie couldn't help but return the kiss this time. Kissing he had always enjoyed and this was still the woman he loved.

"I'll break it off with Aafrin," she promised. "I'll make him go away and promise to never come back. I'll go home with you and we'll be happy."

Charlie nodded fervently, clutching at the straw of hope. If she was willing to let go of her fantasy lover, and given she'd mentioned going home with Charlie yet without mentioning Percy, then surely there was a shred of possibility that it could mark a turning point. She would return home, and maybe home was reality.

Was it truly achievable though?

Charlie and Ralph were encouraged when, after dinner, Alice told Mrs Sparrow about her plans to return home. When Alice had gone to bed, they pored over the journal, the latest entry, made just before supper, telling how she'd sent Aafrin away. She'd been loath to do so, but she had done it. She had chosen Charlie and Percy over Aafrin. She would go home. It wasn't perfect but it was another milestone.

"I wish Aafrin had taken a cyanide pill," Charlie said, staring at the ceiling. Ralph blew out a cloud of smoke.

"Hmm. They seem to be plentiful in Simla. But she's sent him away. It's a good sign. And Dr Phelps has agreed to come and begin working with her in just a few days time."

*

"I did it. I killed him."

The blood drained from Ralph's face. "Alice?"

She tipped her head, smiled, walked towards the garden. Mrs Sparrow hurried in.

"Thank the Lord you're home, Mr Whelan! It's the master."

"What did she do to him?" Ralph was terrified what the answer might be.

Mrs Sparrow pointed at the journal sitting on the table. "He read that and he went white as a sheet. Said something like, 'So that's it, then' and he locked himself in his study and I'm concerned, sir –"

Ralph was already heading for the study. He banged on the door. "Charlie! What the hell is going on?"

He tried the door; locked as Mrs Sparrow had said. She came up behind him, handed him the spare key without a word. Ralph unlocked the door, flinging it open.

Charlie was sat at his desk, a revolver in his hand, his gaze as distant as Alice's.

"Charlie." Ralph advanced with caution. "Charlie, look at me."

Charlie blinked, focussed on Ralph.

"Put the gun down."

Charlie hefted the weapon in his hand. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters."

Ralph edged closer. "Tell me what happened."

"I'm already dead to her. Literally," Charlie said, giving a twisted smile. "Murdered by a mob. Killed so that she can be free of me and play happy ever after with Aafrin fucking Dalal."

Ralph took heart at the expletive. Anger was something he could work with. Numbness and despair meant there was nothing left to lose, but if Charlie still felt something, anything, there was hope.

"I should have executed the little prick instead of Ramu Sood," Ralph said.

That drew a pained laugh. "Yes. If only. The Ralph of her fantasy is quite a piece of work, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. But he is not me! I cannot recognise myself in the Ralph who let an innocent man hang, who whored out his wife for the chance to advance his career; a man who hits old women in the face!" Ralph eyed the gun, judging the distance. "You are not the man who died in that world. You are the man who loves his son, but not the one who committed adultery, not the Charlie who bullies her to tears."

Charlie considered this. Ralph tried once more, knowing if this failed, he would attempt to grab for the gun.

"Put down the gun. We'll find a way past this. I promise."

Charlie met his gaze. Ralph didn't look away, willed himself to appear certain that a happy resolution was possible. Maybe ten seconds passed and then Charlie tossed the gun into a drawer, slamming it shut. Ralph heaved a sigh of relief.

"Good man. Come on," Ralph said, wanting them both away from the weapon. "Let's get a drink and talk about our next move."

Alice was waltzing around the lounge, staring at the ceiling, when they entered.

"Snow," she said. "Oh, isn't it magical. Just like a wonderful story. Winter is coming and I'm free." She laughed, spun around, arms outstretched.

Ralph put a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Phelps will be here tomorrow. He can fix her, I'm sure of it."

Charlie shook his head. "Look at her," he said, the bitterness in his tone overlaid with grief. "She's happy. She's got everything she ever wanted."

Ralph shook his head. "But it's not real."

"It is to her." Charlie swallowed. "If I drag her out of that utopia, into a world without her son, well. Wouldn't I be the monster she paints me out to be?"

The two men watched as Alice danced, oblivious to their presence, completely caught up in the created world of an Indian summer's evening in Simla.

**Author's Note:**

> For the trope bingo prompt "perspective flip", dark bingo prompt "insanity".  
> [tumblr promo post](https://meridianrosewrites.tumblr.com/post/162744500412/meridianrose-alice-through-the-looking-glass)


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